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"Try not to miss lunch," she shouted through the locked door. I pulled on the handle.
"Let me out of here," I demanded. I pounded the door. "Aunt Bet, open this door. I have to find out about Jefferson. Aunt Bet!" I pounded again and again, but she didn't respond. Furious, I kicked at the door, but only hurt my foot. I paused, seething, and then I heard Richard's whisper. He had his lips up against the opening between the jamb and the door.
"Why don't you crawl out your window," he said and laughed.
"You little bastard. When I get out of here . . ." I pulled and pulled on the handle until my arms ached.
"Aunt Bet! Please. Open the door!" I waited, but it was silent. "Uncle Philip!" I cried. "Let me out!" No one came even though I pounded and cried for hours. When Aunt Bet's scheduled lunch hour began, she climbed the stairs and came to my room. She unlocked the door and stood there gazing down at me. I was sprawled on the floor where I had stopped pounding and calling.
"How dare you lock me in like this?" I said, rising slowly.
"Maybe now you'll understand the importance of schedules," she said. "Our lives are very organized now and we don't want anything to disrupt them."
"Don't you ever, ever lock me in here again," I said. She held her cold smile.
"What will you do?" she asked. "Run away again?"
It was as if a cold knife had been dragged down my back along my spine. I suddenly realized she had been happy Jefferson and I had run off. She didn't care; she didn't want us to return. She was hoping we had gone to live with someone else. Revenge, no matter how self-destructive it might be, was suddenly worth it.
"Why do you think I ran away? What do you think was the real reason?"
"I wouldn't know," she said, but she had an anxious look in her eyes. I folded my arms across my chest and stepped toward her, my own eyes firmly fixed on hers.
"You never asked Uncle Philip, did you? You must have been awake that night. You must have known when he left your bed and came into my room," I fired at her with a tone of meanness that amazed even me.
"What?" She stepped back. "What are you saying, you horrible child?"
"He came into my room. He came into my bed," I told her. Her mouth opened and her eyes widened. She shook her head and started to speak, but her lips moved without producing a sound. "He forced himself on me; it was horrible, horrible. He kept telling me he couldn't stand being near you, touching you."
She shook her head vehemently.
"I tried to fight him off, but he was too strong and too determined. In the end . . . he raped me."
She brought her hands to her ears and uttered the ugliest, most twisted scream. Then she reached out to slap me, but I caught her hand in midair.
"Don't touch me!" I told her, "and don't ever lock me in my room again. Don't even think of it!"
She pulled her hand free and fled from me. She retreated to her own bedroom and slammed the door.
"Good riddance," I cried and then I took a deep breath. It felt like a small fire had started in my chest. I hadn't realized how rigidly I had been holding myself. My ribs ached. Although I had driven her off, I didn't feel proud of myself. Even now that it was over and my fury had subsided, I could easily imagine how hateful and ugly I had appeared. It was a side of myself I didn't want to make visible, for I knew it left scars afterward. Maybe no one else could see the scars, but I could. The worst thing vile and repulsive people like Aunt Bet could do to you was make you like them. That was what she had succeeded in doing right now.
I went downstairs to have some lunch. Melanie and Richard were already seated at the table, he with his napkin tucked in his collar and she with hers on her lap. Both of them sat up perfectly straight, their soup spoons gripped correctly and poised over their steaming bowls of chowder. They looked more like mannequins than real people.
"I found all the terrible things you did in my room while I was away," I told them. "You won't get away with it. Believe me."
My fiery gaze made them both shift their eyes to their soup. Then Richard recuperated and fired back.
"Jefferson's going to die," he said out of the corner of his mouth. "Mother told us so this morning."
"That's a lie. He's getting better. He's being brought to the hospital back here the moment he can travel," I said. He smiled slyly.
"My father just told you that to get you to come home," he said confidently. I looked at Melanie who was staring at me like some coldly analytical scientist anxious to see what my reaction to this news would be.
"You're horrible . . . two monsters!" I cried and in one swift move, I dumped their bowls of soup on their laps. They both screamed and jumped up and away from the table as the liquid quickly went through their clothes and scalded them. Without waiting for Aunt Bet's arrival, I turned and fled.
I ran out of the house, down the steps and toward the hotel. All of the debris had been cleared and the new walls had been started. As I approached, the workers on this side turned and a moment later, Uncle Philip emerged from the group to greet me.
"You have a family of monsters," I began. "I hate them!"
